Page 48 of The Ampersand Effect

Tobin took a long sip of her coffee, checking in with herself before answering. The uncertainty was still there—but the kiss had solidified one thing: she knew she wanted toknow.

She wanted to know if Grier could be a possibility. She was trying to accept that it might mean changing her carefully laid plans, but for the first time, she felt somewhat at peace with the idea. She had time before her fertility appointments began—time to explore, to learn, to understand what this could be. Information, she reasoned, was her safest path forward. Information meant communication. And right now, that’s all she was offering. Information could help her determine her next right step.

“I’mfeeling,” she said at last, setting the mug down. “Which, as you know, is not an externally shared talent of mine.”

Harrow’s brows shot up before one lowered again in careful consideration. “You have a skillfully articulated façade, yes.”

“Well, I’m going to schedule an appointment with Nadia this week. But…” she leveled a deadpan look of skepticism at her sister. “Don’t let this go to your head—you were right last night. There’s something between Grier and me that, at the very least, deserves to be explored. I texted her and offered to explain myself, and to thank her. I thought I’d cook for her, and we could talk—without the pressure of rushed flirtation.”

Harrow stood and joined her in the kitchen, settling across the counter from her. She didn’t say anything at first, just watched Tobin. The silence stretched until Tobin began to squirm under her sister’s silent appraisal.

Finally, Harrow’s sober expression softened, the corners of her eyes crinkling as a soft, genuine smile appeared, “I’m proud of you.”

Tobin offered her own eye-smile back, taking a sip of coffee to obscure the small blush forming over her cheeks. Tobin was the older sister, but somehow Harrow’s approval and support had always carried more weight than anyone else’s—including LoLo’s and Eddie’s.

They had grown up thick as thieves, with a picturesque childhood: two loving parents, solid friendships and family vacations. They’d spend most weekends at the cherry orchard, their father wanting to return to his literal roots and expose his daughters to the salt-of-the-earth lifestyle LoLo and his father emanated. Their summers were devoured by the orchard, neither girl missing their lives or friends back home enough to protest.

Under the canopy of cherry trees, the girls grew into themselves. They rose with the sun and slept beneath theopen stars. They worked alongside the orchard staff—planting, pruning, watering, and picking. They made friends with the neighboring farm kids, experienced their first losses, and some of their hardest.

It was against a shaded trunk that Tobin first told Harrow about her sexuality, and Harrow, in turn, shared her own bisexuality. It was against another trunk that Tobin sobbed when she learned of their father’s cancer. Later, after fleeing his burial at the family cemetery, LoLo found her there—curled against a trunk, her knuckles bloodied from the assault she’d unleashed on the all-too-willing tree.

Losing her father laid the first row of bricks in the armory of walls that guarded Tobin’s heart—and it was the thickest. The love she’d grown up witnessing between her parents and her grandparents had set the bar so high she’d felt the burden of its near-unattainability since childhood. She knew both couples had their disagreements, but their love was unmistakable—in the gentle banter, the soft touches as they passed each other, and the way both her father and grandfather always sought their wives’ eyes first in any room.

She had been raised in a fairytale and refused to settle for anything less—to the point that she decided to remove the unpredictable variable of a partner altogether, to guarantee her children would never have to witness a failed relationship from such proximity.

Their mother was only forty-five when her husband died. Briefly, she withdrew into herself after his absence. The girls stayed with LoLo and their grandfather on the farm for several months. LoLo, Tobin, and Harrow grew together in their grief, then grew outward as they healed. Their mother returned—to the farm and to her daughters—and their love grew too. She never remarried, always saying she’d already lived her love story; now, she just wanted her girls to find theirs.

Neither Tobin nor Harrow ever officially came out to their family; there was never a need to. They were raised with the innate understanding of unwavering love and support—no matter the context. Tobin began talking about crushes in her early teens. Harrow followed a few years later, slower to bloom into herself and naturally quieter about the things she held close to heart.

With the freedom of that support, the girls were encouraged to explore themselves, and their ambitions blossomed early. Tobin found herself drawn to the kitchen, learning from LoLo and their mother. Though the farm was paternally linked, LoLo and their grandfather had adopted the girls’ mother long before Tobin and Harrow were born. She belonged to the farm as much as the rest of them, and found a comfort in the land and the buildings where her love for her husband—and their family—had taken root. While Tobin ultimately decided she didn’t want the lifestyle of a professional chef, her love for food—and love through food—remained a defining part of her life, and a dependable outlet for her emotions.

Harrow’s ambitions were born on the orchard, too. The summer a blight threatened the crop, she dove into research, learning how pesticides, soil treatments, and runoff affected the farm and the earth. Her impassioned campaign for environmental sanctions germinated into a fervent pursuit of environmental law—and why she was working on a Saturday morning.

Tobin’s phone buzzed on the counter between them, and she couldn’t staunch the rush of adrenaline at the thought of Grier’s response. She reached for it with gratefully steady hands and flipped it over where she and Harrow could both see Anchor’s name across the screen. She physically deflated.

“That must’ve been some kiss!” Harrow crowed, unable to resist the tease.

Tobin looked at her, unblinking, before unlocking her phone, and retorted in short, clipped words, “It was.”

Harrow smirked, one eyebrow raised, an inquisitive glimmer in her eyes. Tobin kept her waiting and instead read the text from Anchor.

ANCHOR—8:01 a.m.

Morning!!! Just checking in? Are you okay???

We’re all really worried about you…

Tobin often forgot how young Anchor was—until she texted. The girl, in her mid-twenties, had an exuberant fondness for punctuation that none of Tobin’s peers shared.

TOBIN—8:03 a.m.

I’m doing much better this morning.

Thanks for checking in.

TOBIN—8:03 a.m.

How are the new residents settling in?